Hallucination
by S. Meech
Summary: Plagued by nightmares, Ralph seeks out his old nemesis Jack when he learns that Jack has been placed in a mental institution. Warnings: slash.


Author's note: This is a giftfic for rurounihime on LJ, who is awesome.

**Now, Sakai Michiba presents:  
Hallucination**

* * *

Ralph rolled over in bed and stared at the digital clock on the nightstand, his eyes skimming over the large, broken red numbers. It read 4:17, unblinking, but the vertical line in four was missing along with the bottom period in the colon. A red dot to the left of the broken four indicated that it was 4:17 AM, and he glared at it with contempt. This was the third night in a row he had woken up with nightmares about the island, about Jack sitting on his throne with the twins flanking him, apologetic looks in their eyes as they wielded the makeshift spears, tipped in blood. "Sam," he had choked wetly, and he lifted a shaky hand to his mouth to find blood dripping from his lips. "Eric…"

"Sorry, Ralph," they whispered in unison, eyes wide and innocent, and pain had ripped through him then, and he had fallen to his knees. There was the touch of cold stone on the bottom of his chin, and he looked up, gagging and spitting, as Jack stood before him, naked and holding one of the twins' spears so the spearhead tilted his chin upward. His eyes went half-lidded, and he tried to avoid the sight of Jack's nudity even though it hardly bothered him. Everyone was naked here.

"J-Jack," he coughed, and he let his eyes close in submission. "Jack, end it." His voice was much weaker than he would have liked, but he had not properly eaten in days, and he was starving. He could smell pig cooking over the fire off to his right, and saliva collected at the corners of his lips. "Just end it, for God's sake!" A fly landed on his cheek and he reached up to swipe it away, but it was persistent and did not flee. It was soon joined by another fly, then another, and he could hear Jack laughing—no, _cackling_—as a fly pressed its way between Ralph's lips and danced on his tongue.

He had woken up sweating and nauseous, eyes glazed, and it has taken several hard blinks before he could see properly. His hand was on his face, swiping away invisible flies until he realised that he was not on the island but in his bed in the third floor flat in Dublin. He was nineteen years-old and on his own, scraping up enough money between the royalties from his book about the island (hardly a bestseller, but the interest was there) and his full-time job as a waiter at a small restaurant down the street that overlooked the Liffey. He could see the waterway from his bedroom window, but it hardly provided a nice view on this part of the waterway, and he never looked at it much.

He had not been having these dreams of Jack for very long—only for these three nights—and he blamed it entirely on one of the patrons at the restaurant. "Look a' this," the old man had said to him, beckoning him over. "Looks like one'a those island boys is sick. On me mother's grave, it's taken long enough for 'im to go mad, and I'll be shocked if'n the rest o' them aren't mad soon." Ralph had been taken aback by this statement, and he took the paper from the man to read the article.

Jack had, according to the article, been taken to the hospital for hallucinations and would be kept for observation for five days before being transferred to a mental institution. Ralph was not surprised at this news—he had committed himself for six months when he was seventeen—but he was shocked that Jack lived in Dublin. He told himself that he would not go to the hospital, that he would not go to visit Jack, but now, as he lay watching the clock switch from 3:17 to 3:18, he knew that ignoring this would be detrimental to his own health. With a groan, he rolled to the side of the bed and pushed his feet over the edge of the mattress. They landed on the soft rug laid over the wooden floor, and he wiggled his toes in the material before he willed himself to stand and go to the window.

The sound of rain was quiet and soothing as Ralph shoved the window open, and he leaned shirtless out of the window to stare at the street below. It was deserted—he supposed that even criminals avoided the rain when they could—and the sight of empty sidewalks struck a lonely chord in Ralph's heart, and he pulled away. The white curtains flapped in the light breeze, and he tied them to the hooks on the wall before he flipped on the lamp and approached his reflection in the mirror.

Three nights of no sleep had not been kind to Ralph. There were huge bags under his eyes, and he was rather paler than usual. His blond hair had no shine to it whatsoever, and he ran his fingers back through it with a frown before he abandoned the mirror and headed to the bathroom for a shower. He would leave at seven for the hospital.

* * *

"Mr. Merridew, you have a visitor." 

Jack's blue eyes slid open and he rubbed them with a freckled hand before he sat up and frowned at the nurse. "A visitor?" he asked suspiciously, not quite trusting the nurse to be real until she came over and laid a hand on his arm. He relaxed then, and he gave a nod. "Well, who is it, then? I wasn't expecting Mum today—she said she'd be away on business in Tralee—so it must be Father, aye?"

"No, I don't think so. I'll go check who he is, if you'd like…"

"Just send him in. I'm _bored_ and I don't care who it is!" It was true. His other had only been in once to see him, and he was unsure of whether or not the other visitors he'd had were real or not. The nurse had insisted that they were, but he was not sure about her, either. He watched her leave the room and frowned before he settled back in his bed and drew the sheets comfortably to his chest.

The first thing he thought when he saw a tall, blond boy enter the room was that he recognised him. He knew he had seen that particular shade of sandy hair, those blue eyes, and that almost-playful mouth before, but he could not place it. He stared at him in silence for what seemed like an eternity before his eyes widened and he sat back hard against his pillows. "Is that _you_?"

Ralph had had no trouble getting into the hospital so early, and he was pleased that there were no questions as to who he was from Jack or the staff. The room he had been shown into—Room 114—was white and simple, bereft of flowers and paintings, and he had not thought to bring any, and in the centre of it all was Jack, still as redheaded and freckled as ever, but he had lost that ugliness he'd possessed as a child and had grown into his features. His eyes were much sharper than he would have expected for a madman, still as blue as the ocean, and Ralph could tell he was tall. He himself had grown out of his childish figure. Where Ralph had once had the build of a twelve year-old boxer, he was now tall and lean, muscular but not stocky or square, and he smiled much more easily the further away the incident on the island got from his present. "Hi, Jack," Ralph whispered, his voice hoarse from exhaustion, and he attempted a weak smile. "How do you feel?"

Jack stared at Ralph, hyperaware of the ticking of the clock on the nightstand and the light breeze from the window. "Er…_mad_," he finally claimed with conviction, and he was pleased that this response seemed to break the ice between them, and Ralph was laughing at him. "Oh, yes, _very funny_, I'm sure!" He exclaimed this with a smile, and for the first time in days he felt jovial. The hospital was depressing, more depressing than it should have been, and he was glad to have company whether it truly existed or not. "Touch my hand, would you?"

Ralph's chortling immediately ceased and old suspicion rose unwittingly before he could remind himself that this was not the island. This was not the same Jack he had left on the beach. This was not the same Jack who, when they were sailing back on the ship, had shakily crawled into bed with Ralph and clung to him in the night, sobbing and apologising and making every excuse he could manage. His arms had wrapped around Jack and he had assured him that everything was all right, that they were safe, that there were no grudges.

_That_ memory hit him like a tonne of bricks, and he visibly recoiled before he reached out and grabbed Jack's hand fiercely. "I don't think it's funny at all, Jack." This left him in a rush, and he was close to Jack now, half a metre away. The shell-shocked look on Jack's face lasted only for a moment, and he inhaled sharply when Ralph closed the half-metre and embraced him. "It's not fucking funny at all," he murmured against Jack's hospital gown-clad shoulder, and he felt Jack stiffen in his grasp before melting.

Jack's arms crept up and around Ralph's middle, his grip loose and defeated. "I've been seeing you, Ralph, and Roger and Simon and Piggy and Sam and Eric and…God, it's really you, isn't it? You're not…?"

"No, I'm not. I swear I'm not."

* * *

_Jack started awake, feeling the rock of the ship beneath him instead of the cold, hard ground of the island. It was night-time, he judged by the lack of sunlight streaming through the porthole, and he rubbed at his eyes before sitting up in bed. Ah, bed…so much more comfortable than his bed in Castle Rock and infinitely warmer. He could hear the other boys sleeping, and he lay back down on the sheets, drawing the blanket up to his chin. _

Was he going to be in trouble? He was in charge of the boys who killed Simon that celebratory evening. Roger would be in more trouble than he was, though, because Roger killed Piggy all on his own. Roger…His heart sped up in fear as he sat up again, looking over to Roger's bed. He could see a head of shaggy black hair but no face in the darkness, and he knew that, had he seen the face, he would have screamed. Roger was not human, was not…

Sam and Eric. Samneric. They were lying huddled together in just one of the beds, clinging to one another and whispering. He could see one of them shaking and quivering, but he could not hear their words. He wished he had a twin then, someone who would hold him and listen to him choking and sobbing over Simon. He could see Simon's scared-yet-excited expression as he came down the mountain, breathless and trying to point something out to them, but then, oh God, then…

The echo of a visceral scream sounded in his head, and he drew a great, shuddering gasp. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"

His eyes turned to Ralph's bed, and his heart ached. He and Ralph could have been such great friends, but Ralph was…he was…Jack moaned aloud and got out of bed then, feeling tears welling up in his eyes, and his bare feet sounded so young as they slapped across the wooden floor that was so smooth, so sinfully smooth. "Ralph," he whispered harshly, and Ralph rolled over onto his back to blink up at him in the darkness. As if possessed, Jack crawled into the bed with him and threw himself onto Ralph, feeling so small against him as Ralph's arms lifted and wrapped around him. "Ralph I'm so-sorry…I…"

* * *

Ralph visited every day, even when they moved Jack to a mental institution. The mental institution was closer than the general hospital, so Ralph was pleased with the move, but Jack was not. "I feel like I shouldn't be here, Ralph," he whispered as Ralph walked through his door for the fifteenth time since the move. "I'm too sane for this place." 

Ralph rather disagreed. Sure, Jack was not screaming like the man down the hall or ripping his hair out by the handfuls, but Jack was not well at all. Sometimes, Ralph was concerned that Jack was just looking right through him instead of at him, that he was seeing Roger or Simon or even Piggy. "They're gone, Jack," he had whispered one day when Jack was sobbing into his shoulder, even if it was not entirely true. Simon and Piggy were dead, yes, but Roger was not. He was living in Glasgow, from what Ralph knew.

"How are you feeling today?" Ralph asked as he took his seat by Jack's bed, and he frowned and Jack shook his head and looked away from him. "…Jack?" Sometimes when he came in, Jack acted like this, and he knew that it was a ploy for attention on most occasions, but it did not seem so on this visit. He reached out and touched Jack's hand on the bed, and he smiled softly as Jack let him take it. "You're feeling fine, aren't you?"

"My mother came."

Ralph blinked and frowned before his fingers tightened around Jack's. Jack's mother had been on a business trip in Tralee for the first week while Jack was in the general hospital, but she had not, as of the day before, visited Jack in the institution. "What did she want?" Ralph asked quietly, and he yelped as Jack suddenly jerked him by their joined hands onto the bed. Ralph scrambled to achieve balance before he crawled up beside Jack at the head of the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Jack still was not looking at him. "She's leaving my father." It was a simple statement, spoken in a flat, dead tone, and Ralph sighed and shook his head. "She wasn't on a business trip. She has a boyfriend in Tralee…" Ralph felt Jack's shoulders begin to shake, and he wrapped his other arm around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. "She's such a…such a _whore_," Jack growled fiercely, and Ralph closed his eyes at the harsh tone.

"Don't let it get to you," Ralph suggested quietly, and he rested his cheek against Jack's red hair. "My parents got a divorce three years ago, after I wrote my book, and the best thing you can do is to just ignore them. Let them sort it out, you know?" It had killed him when his father left his mother after a huge fight over finances, and he had spent days locked in his bedroom before moving out with his mother. Jack was pulling him down, wanting to lie down with him, and Ralph allowed Jack to pull him down and curl up to him.

"Why do you come here to see me every day?" It was a soft question, spoken against the collar of Ralph's shirt. Ralph blinked up at the ceiling, suddenly hyperaware of the touch of Jack's fingers hiding just under the hem of his shirt, and he deliberated on that question.

"I'm not sure."

* * *

Ralph ran his fingers back through his hair, pausing to look at himself in a small mirror on the hospital wall, and when he was certain that his appearance was satisfactory, he continued on his way to Jack's room. It had been four months now, four months of visiting every day, of bringing chocolate or steak or sushi, of Jack's fingertips sliding just under his shirt, never going any further than the first strip of skin. Today, Ralph had brought a cup of Jack's favourite coffee, as it was still very early in the morning, and he was just thinking of how wonderful the look on Jack's face would be when he gave it to him when he opened the door to Jack's room, closed it behind him, then nearly dropped the coffee on the floor. 

Jack was completely naked on top of his blankets, legs spread wide as if in invitation and his cock lying stiffly against his stomach. His right hand was wrapped around his erection, pumping it in earnest, and Ralph was just about to turn right around and go back out when Jack whispered his name. "Ralph…Ralph, don't go." His voice was hoarse, pleading, and just like a spell, for it forced Ralph to walk across the room, his eyes fixed on that jerking hand, and he set the coffee down on the bedside table before he crawled into bed with Jack as he always did. There was a strange sort of rushing in his ears, and he realised as he pressed up against Jack that he was erect and dripping himself. "Took you long enough…"

"I'm early," Ralph gasped as Jack's left hand slipped down between his legs and squeezed the bulge there from the outside of his denim jeans. Jack's right hand fell still, and he wrapped his right arm around Ralph's neck, drawing him close and angling his mouth over Ralph's so when they pressed their lips together in a searing, desperate kiss for the first time, their tongues could meet and swirl together. Every movement of Jack's lips, every pulse of his own cock sent Ralph soaring with sensation.

He was dimly aware of Jack's hands opening his trousers then tugging them downward, and he lifted his hips upward from the mattress so they, along with the black underpants, could properly be pushed away. Ralph had never known the sort of pleasure he derived from the first nude, electric touch of their stomach and arousals, and when their legs tangled together, it was all he could do to keep from erupting and melting from existence. In the moment of clarity during which they came together, Ralph knew that Jack was going to be all right, that he could take him out of there and take him home and they would live together forever.

On the way home that evening—Ralph had, predictably, stayed at the institution all day—, his body thrumming with the pleasure of recent orgasm, Ralph yawned and relaxed in the driver's seat of his small car. He rarely drove anymore, favouring public transport because it was cheaper and he could sleep if he liked. The gentle thrum of the engine and the music on the wireless forced a deep, contented sigh from his lips, and his eyelids fluttered sleepily.

* * *

"Have you seen Ralph?" the head nurse inquired, checking her watch. It had been two full days since any of them had seen him, but Jack could be heard chattering away to him in his room. "He hasn't checked in, and I haven't seen him, but he must be here. Who else would Jack be talking to?" 

One of her underlings, a pretty girl with blonde hair and brown eyes, shrugged noncommittally. "At least they aren't shagging today. You should have heard the racket…I've never been so disgusted in my life," she claimed snobbishly, listening just outside Jack's door to hear him laughing genuinely. "Excuse me!" she called with false sweetness as she knocked on the door, and she opened it. "Ralph, you neglected to…Oh." Jack was completely alone, and he regarded her with a cocked eyebrow. "I thought I heard you speaking to your friend, Jack. I'm sorry…"

Jack narrowed his eyes and glared at her. "What do you mean? He's right here! Go on, Ralph, you sod. You forgot to sign in. Again." He rolled his eyes as though this was the most ridiculous thing in the world, though he was concerned about Ralph, really. Ralph had not touched him since they had spent all day two days previously in bed, rutting like pigs in the mud and certainly hollering to fit the occasion. He wondered if Ralph was a little embarrassed about being so loud with him, but he really did not mind at all. What a silly thing to be concerned over, honestly!

The nurse stared at Jack. "Jack…He's not…" It clicked, and she sighed before nodding and turning back to the door. "Just…sign in before you leave, Ralph," she spoke to no one, and she left Jack in the hospital room by himself. Immediately, she heard the laughter begin again, and she locked the door before she returned to the nurse's station. "Ralph's not there, but Jack is having hallucinations that he is. I'm…What's wrong?"

The head nurse closed her eyes tightly and passed the obituary column to the girl, shaking her head as she pointed out to the short paragraph in the middle-left of the page, headed by a smiling photograph of Ralph.

Jack never understood why Ralph never touched him again.


End file.
